HMN C42

Chapter 42

Step, step.

The sound of two pairs of footsteps echoed down the narrow alley behind the university’s back gate.

“…Why am I even here?”

Daeyoung lifted his head. The moment they’d passed the corner of the main building, Go Chiwoo had appeared, said nothing, and simply started walking ahead. He hadn’t answered when asked where they were going either—just kept walking, expression unreadable. The destination, apparently, was the Medical Tower near the back gate.

Every floor of the building was crowded with clinics and specialty offices, and the place they stopped at was an orthopedist’s.

Whir.

The glass doors slid open, and the receptionist behind the desk smiled brightly.

“First time visiting? Where does it hurt?”

“Uh…”

Daeyoung blinked, completely clueless as to why he was even here, and turned to Chiwoo for an answer.

“Both wrists,” Chiwoo said evenly. “It hurts when he grips something or presses down even a little. And he scraped his knee a few days ago—check that too.”

“All right, we’ll get you checked in and take some X-rays. Could I see your ID, please?”

“What’re you doing?”

Startled out of his daze, Daeyoung fumbled for his wallet. What the hell is happening right now? His eyes darted around in confusion, but before he knew it, he’d finished registration and was following the nurse’s call to another room.

He obediently offered up his arms and knee for imaging, and before long, he was being ushered into the doctor’s office.

“Let’s have a look here. Does this hurt?”

“…Ah! It does!”

Flinching, Daeyoung shrank back from the doctor’s hand, glancing at Chiwoo, who had followed him into the consultation room like a self-appointed guardian. The doctor prodded a few more places and nodded knowingly, the way only professionals could.

“The knee’s just bruised, nothing serious. But the wrists—keep them in braces and limit use as much as possible. You’re young, so it shouldn’t need surgery, but there’s inflammation. I’d recommend a shot and some physical therapy. Sound good?”

“Yes.”

Of course, Chiwoo answered for him. The doctor spoke to him, too, as if Daeyoung were seven and had brought his parent along. All Daeyoung could do was glance helplessly between them, never quite finding a moment to interrupt.

So he followed the nurse out quietly.

His mind stayed blank the whole time. Whenever someone called his name, he’d shuffle to the next station, waiting and wandering like a lost lamb. When they started the treatment, he’d winced and even teared up a little—but thankfully, Chiwoo had stayed in the waiting room. Free from witnesses, he could grimace and complain all he wanted.

Half an hour later, he emerged from the treatment room with his sleeves rolled up, wrists covered in red marks and suction spots from the therapy.

“Damn. I look like a polka-dotted mango,” he muttered, lowering his sleeves.

At the far end of the waiting room, Chiwoo sat slouched on a sofa. A little boy—no older than five—was peering up at him curiously.

“Mister, are you hurt too?”

Chiwoo looked down at the kid with his usual blank expression. Daeyoung tensed immediately, worried the man would say something harsh, but to his surprise, Chiwoo actually answered.

“If I were hurt, I’d be inside, wouldn’t I? But I’m sitting here.”

It wasn’t kindly said, exactly—still that dry, detached tone—but apparently the child wasn’t fluent in reading sarcasm yet.

“Maybe you’re just waiting your turn.”

“……”

Well. He had him there. Watching Chiwoo momentarily speechless made Daeyoung’s steps slow in smug satisfaction.

“Then who are you waiting for? I’m waiting for my dad.”

Despite being ignored, the kid persisted. Chiwoo rotated his wrist lazily.

“My lover.”

Daeyoung froze mid-step. Then, moving on instinct, he ducked behind one of the building’s thick concrete pillars. Is the world losing its mind? No—he’s lost his damn mind!

He could already imagine it: the kid running up to his parent with those bright eyes, chirping, “That man’s his boyfriend!”

Nope. Absolutely not.

He pressed his back to the pillar, swearing silently.

“Hey. What are you doing? I can see you.”

“Ah!”

Too late.

Chiwoo suddenly popped out from the side of the pillar, catching him red-handed. Wasn’t he just sitting on the sofa a second ago? As Daeyoung tried to retreat again, Chiwoo followed, leaning in close.

“You really think you can hide that face? If you wanted to play hide-and-seek, you should’ve said so. I can count to ten for you.”

Ignoring the nonsense entirely, Daeyoung raised his chin.

“…Where’s the kid?”

“Kid?”

Realization dawned on Chiwoo’s face. He chuckled softly and nodded. But Daeyoung’s brow remained furrowed.

“Let’s talk outside… yeah, outside.”

He didn’t even know if the kid was gone or not, but he wasn’t taking chances. Just thinking about the potential misunderstanding made him shudder. Muttering under his breath, he strode off toward the counter.

“How’s your wrist?”

“Fine. Don’t talk to me. Don’t get close.”

He quickened his pace. Honestly, he’d always assumed time alone would heal his wrists. He figured the pain would disappear naturally once he stopped working part-time. Coming to a hospital had never even crossed his mind.

“Name, please?”

“Ahn Daeyoung.”

“Here’s your bill.”

“Uh… yeah.”

And that was another reason he avoided hospitals—they were expensive.

While Daeyoung fumbled through his pockets for his wallet, Chiwoo calmly pulled out his card.

“Put it on this.”

“Would you like it charged all at once?”

“Yes.”

“Hey—”

By the time Daeyoung looked up, eyes wide, Chiwoo was already pocketing his card and jerking his chin toward the exit. Not wanting to argue about money in front of strangers, Daeyoung followed him outside.

“Why the hell did you pay? It was my treatment.”

“I brought you here because I need those wrists functional for the next week.”

He said it so casually, like paying someone’s medical bill was nothing. The elevator dinged open.

Ugh. Daeyoung exhaled heavily. He hated the feeling of owing someone. But then again… he’d promised to stick around for a week, and who knew what kind of nonsense that’d involve. Maybe this counted as an “occupational expense” for emotional and physical endurance.

Still, why did it feel so much like being a servant grateful to a generous nobleman? He stepped into the elevator with a sigh.

“I mean, I don’t feel it much yet, but yeah—it’s better than that throbbing pain.”

Chiwoo smirked faintly, pressing the button for the ground floor.

“Ahem.”

Daeyoung cleared his throat, realizing his own voice had come out a bit too cheerful. Maybe it was just relief—having the pain treated did ease his mood.

“……”

But he also understood. This was Chiwoo’s way of being kind. His version of care. Because he liked him—or rather, because he’d been made to like him. The thought sat heavy in his chest, a strange ache blooming beneath the ribs.

“Oh, and—don’t go around telling random kids I’m your boyfriend. I heard that.”

“Then what should I call you? The person I’m pining for?”

“……”

His tone was so nonchalant that Daeyoung couldn’t even find a comeback. The elevator was empty except for the two of them, and yet his ears burned.

“Stop by the pharmacy,” Chiwoo said simply.

As always, he led the way; Daeyoung followed.

A few minutes later, both of Daeyoung’s wrists were strapped into sleek black braces. He’d tried to protest that they weren’t necessary, but Chiwoo’s logic—*“If one injection fixed everything, there wouldn’t be so many orthopedic clinics”—*shut him up.

“Man, I look like an invalid…”

Two wrist guards weren’t exactly a normal fashion choice. Pouting slightly, he muttered under his breath, but Chiwoo stepped closer, tugging his sleeves down to cover them.

“There. Now it’s fine. Can’t even see them.”

And it was true. With the sleeves pulled low, he almost looked normal again.

“……”

But now that he was closer, Daeyoung could smell that faint, familiar scent on him—the one from that night in the basement. Heavy yet clean, like a deep, fresh cologne. It suited him.

“So, what now? Am I supposed to go to work with my new bionic wrists?”

He gave them a little shake for emphasis, but Chiwoo was already turning away, answering, “No,” as if his next destination was already decided.

There was still about an hour before his shift started. Okay, fair—too early to go yet. He followed behind.

“Where are we going?”

“Get in. We’ve got somewhere to be.”

“…”

He hadn’t expected an actual car. Parked right there by the curb, sleek and gleaming. Chiwoo pointed toward it casually.

“…Is that yours?”

“What, you think I stole it? I’m not you.”

“Hey, I don’t steal either!”

A brief, petty squabble. For someone who tossed around ‘I like you’ and ‘you’re my lover’ without blinking, Chiwoo was surprisingly consistent with his teasing. It made Daeyoung wonder, not for the first time, whether this whole “hypnosis” thing was just a prank.

Click.

The car beeped as the doors unlocked.

‘Good-looking golden spoon,’ Hae-gyeom’s words echoed in his head.

Even with his limited knowledge of cars, he recognized the logo—it was a luxury brand. Of course. Of course he was a handsome rich boy. Sighing, he circled the hood and slipped into the passenger seat.

“Can you use chopsticks properly?”

The question came out of nowhere as the engine started.

“I can.”

“What about forks and knives?”

“…Are you making fun of me right now?”

Chiwoo’s mouth curved in a barely-there grin. Then he leaned over, reaching across the console.

Daeyoung froze, breath catching as the man pulled the seatbelt over him and clicked it into place. I could’ve done that myself. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Your hands looked bad. Just checking if you could still manage.”

Short. Blunt. But Daeyoung understood.

And of course, their destination was a restaurant.

As the car rolled smoothly into the evening traffic, Daeyoung scratched the back of his neck, unease prickling under his skin.

Wait. Is this… a date?

He didn’t dare say it aloud. The car glided forward, quiet and calm, and he sank back into the seat—heart beating just a little too fast.